


Learning Curve

by yodepalma



Series: Schmoopfest 2016 [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Automail, Ed Doesn't Know When To Stop, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Sex, Pet Names, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6224242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodepalma/pseuds/yodepalma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never let it be said that Ed doesn't learn from his mistakes. Eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Curve

**Author's Note:**

> What, you didn't think Ed was going to make it out of this uninjured, did you?
> 
> I have such a love/hate relationship with automail? Like, omg, it's so cool. But there are so many probable side effects that are never touched on. Muscle stiffness and strain (and probably tearing and ligament damage and...) is honestly the most mild one I can think of, considering they hook it up to your _nerves_. (How Ed has managed to avoid nerve damage thus far... *wanders off muttering*)
> 
> srsly where my medical biology nerds at

_Learning Curve_

The biggest problem with automail was that if you didn't remember to treat it respectfully, it always reminded you eventually. Ed had learned this the hard way himself (the way he learned most things) early in his recovery when he'd started to ignore some of the exercises Granny had taught him and half of his muscles had stiffened into uselessness out of protest.

Even though you became so used to automail that it felt like just another extension of the body, the fact was that it was a tool, and like all tools you needed to make allowances for its use. You had to stretch out and relax the muscles that compensated automatically for the heavy pieces of foreign material you'd willingly attached to your body to make up for limbs that you could literally live without.

Forget once or twice and it was no big deal. You might be a bit sore, but who didn't expect that with prosthetics? Forget it for nearly a week straight because you were busy doing research and hunting down leads and chasing some son of a bitch across half of the country because the other option was letting him make _another fucking chimera_ —

Ed didn't regret his choices, not exactly, because he'd gotten the asshole. But he did wonder if he could still have succeeded if he'd paused for ten minutes every night to keep all of his limbs in working order.

At least he was home now. Home meant a hot shower as long as he wanted it to be, and the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in, and, as soon as he got off work, Roy, who would take one look at him and insist on feeding him and then sleeping for twelve hours straight, the lazy shit.

Ed kicked off his boots and made a beeline for the bathroom, where he painfully peeled off his clothes and dumped them on top of the hamper. He turned the shower to a temperature just a hair higher than he usually preferred it, stepped in with a grimace, and leaned against the wall so it could beat down against his back and loosen some of the muscles.

He didn't move for a few long minutes. They clearly lasted longer than he thought too, because the next sound he was cognizant of was Roy's irritated voice as he entered the undoubtedly steaming hot bathroom.

“—times have I asked you not to leave them in the middle of the hall?” It was the end of a very familiar rant about Ed’s habit of leaving his shoes wherever they landed when he was tired, and Ed dearly wanted to snark back but he simply didn't have the energy.

“Mmmm,” he moaned instead. At least he managed to sound a little annoyed.

“...Are you all right?” Roy asked slowly, the concern in his voice making something stupidly warm and fluffy grow in Ed’s chest. Ed quashed it ruthlessly and finally pushed himself away from the wall, reaching his hand toward his hair with a hiss of pain. Shit, he'd forgotten to take it out of the braid.

The rustle of the curtain announced Roy’s nosiness a second before he was peering into the bathtub with a slight frown. Ed glared at him. “D’you mind?” he managed to ask, but even he was alarmed by the roughness of his own voice.

“What did you do to yourself, love?” Roy asked softly, sounding even _more_ concerned, and the fluffy feeling was back. Why did he ever let the man inspire those feelings in the first place? It was a damn nuisance. Ed distinctly heard the sound of more clothes hitting the ground, but Roy was never anything but anal-retentive about his uniform, so obviously he couldn't be—

Except then Roy was climbing into the bathtub with him, as naked as Ed was, and he reached up both hands to undo the wet braid Ed was still ineffectively poking at. Shit. He must _really_ look pathetic this time.

“How long has it been since you slept or ate?” Roy asked gently, starting to massage shampoo into his hair. Ed closed his eyes and leaned against his chest, wrapping his arms around Roy's waist and mentally daring him to say anything about it.

“Ate this morning,” he muttered. “Slept on the train. ‘S not the problem.”

“Then what is?” Roy nudged him back under the water and rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, and Ed used this as an excuse to hesitate and avoid answering the question. But Roy was still looking patiently concerned, and his worry only seemed to grow when he started washing Ed’s body and noticed the tightness of his muscles.

“Forgot to do Granny’s stupid exercises,” Ed muttered as a blush took over his face. His embarrassment wasn't only from the confession; it was _weird_ having Roy do this for him, especially with his hands moving in such a deftly clinical manner in areas where Ed was used to, uh, wildly different treatment. “I can, y’know, I can do that myself.”

“I know, darling,” Roy murmured softly, and the look in his eyes was alarmingly gentle, “but you're injured and I'd like to take care of you.”

“I'm not _injured_ ,” Ed protested as loudly as he could, because he wasn't really, he was just stupid.

“You're in pain, beautiful. That counts as being injured to me.” Roy sighed and stopped washing him to just hold him and kiss him so softly Ed wasn't entirely certain he wasn't imagining it. “I just don't want you to hurt any more, beloved. Let me?”

Stupid Roy. Stupid, perfect, overbearingly protective Roy and his stupid persuasiveness. Ed let him, and couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed with the constant string of pet names.

**Author's Note:**

> help me i can't stop schmooping
> 
> I am STRONGLY DEBATING posting the next (short) schmoopfic I have already written because: a) it sounds like part of a longer piece, and b) I was somewhere even beyond Insomnialand when I wrote it and it is crackier than I expected. We'll see what happens.


End file.
